


What Happened in Bradshaw Stays in Bradshaw

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 10:53:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11057451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: How did Mulder injure in arm and how did Scully break her foot?





	1. The truth? What's the truth?

Skinner looks over his glasses, pushes his hands away from the desk and leans back on his chair. The top of his head seems shinier when his hands clasp behind it that way, as though he’s pushing all the light forward. Scully wishes it would blind him temporarily, the bright shine, so that she can get the hell out of his office. Mulder shifts beside her. He’s in pain. She has come to know the giveaway signs, the way he tips his head side to side, loosens his collar, clenches his jaw twice as often, twitches his lips.

God that was how it all started. His lips.

“Agents, I had a call earlier from a concerned member of the law enforcement team in,” he checks the notepad in front of him, “Bradshaw, West Virginia, where I believe you were investigating a case until…” he tilts his head forward, “your injuries forced you to return.”

Scully clenches the handle of her crutch and Mulder turns to her, running his finger under the shoulder strap of his sling.

“We closed the case, sir,” Scully says. “If your conversation led you to believe anything different, then the law enforcement officer has not been forthcoming with the truth.”

The light on Skinner’s head glows stronger as he pushes his lips out, holding her gaze. His scrutiny at times like this may have unnerved her years before, forced her to start offering excuses for Mulder’s actions. Or her own. He is a big unit, brooding and overbearing sometimes. But age and years of service have started to soften some of his harder edges. The beard helps too. He stares. She stares back. She won’t elaborate further unless pressed. She can’t. They’ve agreed.

If 25 years of chasing the truth has taught her anything, it is that truth is as subjective as you make it.


	2. We are not an anomaly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did Mulder injure his arm? How did Scully break her foot?

He holds the door for her and she swings herself through in her practised manner: clunk the crutches forward, good foot, broken foot and so on. It is disconcerting for her to be so reliant on medical aids but she’s tried to walk without them and the throbbing became unbearable too quickly. Besides, she’s determined to be able to wear her Jimmy Choos for the gala at the end of the month and she needs the swelling to go down.

“Do you think we should have come clean, Scully?”

She props the crutches against the desk and sits in his chair. “What good would that do?” 

One of the crutches slips and crashes to the floor, taking the wastepaper basket with it. Screwed up paper spills out. 

Mulder rolls his shoulder. “I feel a little guilty, that’s all. The car, the motel room. That officer.”

She leans backward a la Skinner and briefly wonders whether her hair is golden and shiny on top now. Why do men do this, this leaning back in chairs business? Is it an ego thing, an alpha thing, a way to make themselves bigger like animals puffing up their fur to a threat? She’s aware of the stretch of her blouse across her chest as she clasps her hands behind her head. So is Mulder, by the swiping of his tongue across his lips. 

She shudders. Those fucking lips.

“Mulder, we agreed, that what happened out there was a…” She can’t even think of a word. What did happen? Stupid, reckless, impetuous. That’s what happened.

“An anomaly?” he supplies, not even trying to contain his delight at her unusual loss of articulation.

She shakes her head. No, that’s not right. “We are not an anomaly, Mulder.”

He grins then, a goofy Mulder grin that catches her breath in her throat and stupid, reckless, impetuous morph into pretty damned fucking good.


	3. Don't mention the rental car.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did Mulder injure his arm? How did Scully break her foot?

Skinner drops by later that day. His knock is firm, putting her on alert. His strides into the office filled with purpose. She tries the leaning back in the chair thing again, but her fur does not puff up to make her intimidating to her potential foe. She remains there though, hands behind her back for a beat too long, trying for the cover of stretching her neck this way and that. Skinner fingers his collar. She’s made him uncomfortable at least. But she knows it’s not the leaning back that did it. It’s the fact that she’s alone and he’s always had a soft spot for her. That Father Joe case had been a huge favour, especially for her.  
“Mulder has stepped out, Sir. If you needed to see him too. Physio for his shoulder.”  
“And you? Are you receiving treatment for your foot?”  
“I will, when the swelling recedes. But I think I was lucky. The break is clean and I sought treatment quickly. Not too much tissue damage.”  
She could continue to witter on in medical terms but she senses he will not leave so easily. She tries for conciliation instead.  
“Can I ask him to call you? When he’s back? Or we could make an appointment for tomorrow, if you were looking for a meeting?” She takes a breath, checks his expression. It hasn’t changed.  
“I’ll wait.”  
She nods, reaching for a file that has languished in Mulder’s tray for weeks. She flicks through it, aware of her own pulse, of Skinner’s footfalls as he paces the length of the office, lifting bits of paper pinned to the corkboard, scanning the bizarre photos from years before, cricking his neck occasionally. She texts Mulder. He sends her an emoji-filled response that makes her want to laugh, scream and come all at once.  
“He’s running late. Perhaps we could stop by your office tomorrow, Sir?”  
Skinner pulls out the chair opposite her. He crosses one meaty leg over the other. “Officer Pinkerton of the Bradshaw PD had some very interesting things to say, Agent Scully.”  
“About the case? It was…unusual, even for the X-Files.”  
“About yours and Agent Mulder’s conduct during this…case.”  
She tilts up her chin. “I can assure you that there was nothing untoward about mine and Agent Mulder’s conduct. Officer Pinkerton assisted us with witness statements, with evidence collection and with general enquiries about the town and the phenomena we were there to investigate. He was most helpful and our report will reflect that. Our conduct was befitting of our years of experience as field agents.” She adds “on the X-Files,” and gets a narrowing of Skinner’s eyes in return.  
But they both know there is no preparation for seeing Mulder dipping his fingers in ectoplasm, shining his flashlight into the darkest recesses of a town’s underbelly, splitting in the middle of the night to investigate moon howlers or expecting everyone to survive on two hours sleep a night and a diet consisting of vending machine offerings.  
Officer Pinkerton was an ass. But even asses need to be cut some slack when it comes to the tornado that is Mulder on a case.  
“He claims that you got drunk, smashed up a motel room and…”  
Don’t mention the rental car. Please don’t mention the rental car.  
The door opens and Mulder strides in, smiling. Skinner swings round.  
“If you’re here about the rental car, I can explain.”


	4. Those blessedly beautiful lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did Mulder injure his arm? How did Scully break her foot?

Skinner folds his arms around his broad chest. Scully looks at Mulder. Mulder looks at Scully. Mulder speaks.  
“We arrived in Bradshaw, checked in to our motel room, met with the Officer in charge and visited the crime scene.”  
***  
Bradshaw was insignificant for many reasons. It was small, a blip on the map. Its built environment was bland, brown and grey. Its main street was as generic as its folk. It was a ghastly reminder of why town planning ideology is actually important for the social cohesion of humankind. But, as Mulder pointed out, even the bland can be memorable. He looked at her then and she wasn’t sure to what, or to whom, he was referring. She let it go, despite the hot buzz in her guts.  
“Scully, you’re not bland. If that’s what’s ticked you off.”  
“I’m not ticked off, Mulder. I’m tired.”  
“You do this thing when you’re annoyed in the car. You have a certain length of time that you hold your breath and I can hear your mind debating whether to argue or let it slide, and then you turn to the window and breathe out. Twenty-five years, partner. Twenty-five years.”  
“So you should know that I expect a full explanation of why we’re here in this town, for want of a better description, investigating what appears to be nothing more than a series of inconsistent witness statements about what appears to be nothing more than drunken pranks.”  
He grinned as he pulled up outside the police department. Which was really just a house on the main street. Which was really just one road containing a gas station, a motel, a grocery store and a drugstore. “Does this town look like it’s full of drunks, Scully? There isn’t even a bar.”  
“And nobody drinks anywhere outside of a bar, do they?” She pushed open the door and let him walk through.  
Officer Pinkerton spent more time talking to her breasts than to Mulder, who was actually asking the questions. His ruddy pock-marked skin and wide nose suggested a fondness for drinking outside of bars. He wasn’t aggressive exactly, but his tone bordered on the unhelpful.  
“There are always lights before these things happen. And a foul odor. And then the people go crazy. Normal people doing abnormal things.”  
Scully felt like bending down to meet his eyes. Instead, she puffed out a short sigh and pulled her jacket tighter.  
“What kinds of things?” Mulder said, hiding his amusement at her growing frustration behind his hand as he rubbed the stubble between his nose and his lips. Scully stared at him. At his mouth. Mulder carried on talking but all she could see was the way his lips moved. Such a graceful, fluid motion.  
“Scully? Scully?”  
“Hm?”  
“Officer Pinkerton has offered to show us the latest crime scene.”  
“Right.”  
Mulder grinned at her. “It’s in the motel. Where we’re going to be staying. So that’s cool, right?”  
Pinkerton dragged his eyes away from her chest to give Mulder an arch of his caterpillar brows. “I think you might find the accommodation is more plain than cool, Agent.”  
He was right. The room behind the police tape was beige and grey. And would have been plain, if it hadn’t have been for the bloom of blood across the beige bed covers and the crimson splatters on the walls.  
“Maurice Willett, a travelling salesman…”  
“What did he sell?” Mulder asked.  
“Does it matter?” Pinkerton replied.  
“It might.”  
Pinkerton flipped through his notepad. “It says here ETDUs.”  
“Extra-terrestrial detection units,” Mulder said, winking at Scully.  
Winking?  
“They sell like you wouldn’t believe. It’s a huge market.”  
Pinkerton looked at Scully, silently asking her face this time if her partner was sane. She’d been on the receiving end of that look more than a few times. She tried to remain impassive. Mulder had an impressive collection of ETDUs in the garage.  
“Murder weapon?” she asked.  
“Broken bottle, found it in the trash can.”  
“What was it?” Mulder asked, leaning over the bin.  
“Does it matter?”  
“It might.”  
Pinkerton sighed. “Bourbon.”  
“Figures,” Mulder said, bending down in front of the bar fridge.  
“Why?” Scully asked, impatience getting the better of her.  
She admired the round of Mulder’s back as he leaned into the fridge, his ass in those pants. She licked her lips. In her periphery she saw Pinkerton lick his own lips and she shuddered in disgust.  
“It’s missing,” Mulder said, standing and showing her the inside of the fridge with a theatrical wave of his arms.  
She shook her head. He pouted.  
Those blessedly beautiful lips. Those fucking god damned delicious lips.  
A blood curdling scream shattered her fantasy. Mulder was outside the unit before Pinkerton could even think about removing his weapon from its holster.  
***  
“We saw the suspect running across the parking lot towards the wooded area behind. We gave chase.”  
“In your car?” Skinner clarifies.  
Mulder clears his throat. “The car malfunctioned…I believe due to external forces”

“External forces, Mulder?”

“My theory…” he begins, as Skinner narrows his eyes. “Is that somehow the strange atmosphere in the town that night - the lights and the foul smell - interfered with the electrics. And the out of control car caused both the damage to the motel and our injuries.”  
Scully rubs her hand over her face. Her foot is throbbing. The whole story is so damned flimsy that her younger self would have a field day picking it apart. Skinner is getting impatient. Skinner is her younger self. The story Mulder is weaving is so fantastic. And he’s leaving out all the best bits.


	5. External forces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did Mulder injure his arm? How did Scully break her foot?

Skinner’s frown turns to a scowl as he addresses Scully. “Can you elaborate on these external forces?”  
Mulder rolls his injured shoulder. “Agent Scully will prepare her report in which she will outline her hypothesis.”  
“I’d like to hear her hypothesis now.”  
She dry-swallows and pauses a moment, trying to collect the composure that she once possessed in bucket-loads but had deserted her since that wild ride at the motel in Bradshaw. Zero composure.  
***  
The sky was a weird shade of purple. Orange clouds hung low on the horizon. Mulder stood looking at the wooded area at the back of the motel reception block. In profile, Scully watched his mouth as he squinted into the strange coloured sky. He was talking, but she couldn’t concentrate. The mesmerising movement of his lips held her to the spot.  
“Get in Scully. We can head her off.”  
How slurry his words and she was struck by an intense dart of arousal when he leant across to open the passenger door for her.  
Pinkerton was only through the door of the crime scene unit when she reached the door of the car. He called out. “Where are you going?”  
She turned back to answer when the purple and orange darkened to black. The sun just stopped. The air filled with the pungent odour of something fermenting. It hit her at the back of the throat and she vomited without warning. Pinkerton slipped on the pool she’d left on the sidewalk and thudded hard to the ground. She stood up to try to help him but stopped in her tracks when the car Mulder was driving hit the kerb. Mulder leapt out without turning off the engine and threw up in the gutter next to Pinkerton. Well, not quite next to. More like over. The lights turned back on, bright and fierce, illuminating the motel complex in a harsh whiteness.  
She clamped a hand over her mouth but the urge was too violent and she chucked again, catching Pinkerton in the midriff. Mulder went to laugh but barfed instead and the poor officer was covered pretty much head to toe in puke.  
The car, still running, began to roll backwards and gathered speed, turning in a slow arc across the parking lot. Scully ran after it, but struggled to gain any forward momentum. Mulder staggered vaguely in its direction, finally managing to reach the gaping door and push his arm inside. He let out a strangled cry as he grabbed the handbrake just as the car launched itself up the kerb. He fell out and struck the ground, clutching his shoulder, as the car hit the door of the motel room in its path. The room door fell off its hinges and crashed to the ground.  
Scully, still a way behind, willed herself to get to Mulder who was writhing on the cold concrete. The car began to rumble back towards him. In a frenzy, she launched herself towards her partner, rolling him out of the way of the back wheels only to stand and turn in time for the front wheel to roll over her foot, and the reverse-turning front panel to push her off balance so that she fell squarely on to Mulder’s lap.  
“Fuck!” she yelled, as pain lanced through her foot.  
“Fuck!” he yelled, holding his shoulder.  
“Fuck!” yelled Pinkerton, staggering towards them, covered in vomit. “Mary-Lou Forrest.”  
The body of the woman was lying across the bed in the motel room where the rental car had crashed.  
“Fuck!” they all yelled as the out of control car smashed into the motel room at the corner of the unit block. Mulder and Scully’s motel room.  
***  
She licks her lips. “We were drugged.”


	6. Spoons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did Mulder injure his arm? How did Scully break her foot?

Skinner’s sigh is one of incredulity mixed with the years of experience that have come from being AD in charge of the X Files. Scully is aware of the hot pulse in her foot, the waves of pain that accompany each beat. Mulder has the generosity to at least look a little guilty as the words hang in the air of the basement office.  
“And this will all be in your report, Agent Scully,” Skinner says as he concedes defeat and heads for the door. “Which I expect on my desk first thing tomorrow.” He pushes open the door, and Scully breathes. Too soon. Skinner turns back, clears his throat, pegs his hands to his hips and speaks in his low, menacing tone. “I don’t know exactly what happened in Bradshaw, but I hope it stays in Bradshaw. You two are my best agents,” he pauses and gives them both his hardest stare, “but there are times when you make Inspector Clouseau look like a candidate for chief of the Bureau.”  
They are silent for minutes before Mulder walks to the desk and sits on the edge. He has the nerve to give her a mega watt smile and she bristles. For a short time. Then she smiles back and before she knows it she’s shaking her head and giggling.  
“Your report will reflect the events in Bradshaw as we recall them, Scully.”  
“Yes, Mulder. Mary-Lou Forrest stabbed Maurice Willett with a broken bottle before taking her own life by slashing her wrists with the same bottle. In the process of investigating said crime we were overcome by fumes from an unknown source, dispersed by unknown methods during a blackout of unknown origin. The rental car was affected mechanically by similar unknown forces and crashed into our motel room causing damage to both the vehicle and the room. In our dealings with the local PD it emerged that there had been a spate of crimes - assault and vandalism - over the past few months and that the town has an unusually high rate of divorce, teen pregnancy and,” she hesitates and looks up at him, “should I put in the bit about the swingers clubs?”  
***  
The vehicle was moved to an actual parking bay. Officer Pinkerton arranged for the local coroner to conduct the autopsies on Willett and Forrest. He managed the whole show really.  
“You two should be at the hospital,” he said, wiping the joint contents of their stomachs off his uniform.  
“I’m a medical doctor. I can tend to Agent Mulder’s shoulder and my foot just needs to be iced. Nothing broken.” She tried to smile at Pinkerton but she felt nauseous so she looked at Mulder. He was pale. “If you’re okay here, we might take a break and regroup tomorrow.”  
Scully lay on the bed in the new motel room with her foot wrapped in a towel of ice, propped up on several pillows. Mulder lay on the bed with his shoulder wrapped in a neat pack and his back propped up on several pillows. He looked across at her. She looked across at him.  
“Did you feel it, Scully?”  
“I did.”  
“What’s your theory?”  
“That you’re hot?”  
Shit, where did that come from?  
He cracked a smile and leant closer. “I think for once I can support your theory, Dr Scully. This upfront honesty is a refreshing break from your usual brand of scepticism .” He nuzzled her neck.  
“Mulder, we’re in the field, you know the rules.”  
He ran his tongue across her jawline.  
“Besides, we’re injured.”  
“Not that injured,” he said, covering her mouth with his lips.  
Those full, sensuous, warm and spicy lips. Those fucking hot lips.  
She knew the towel had fallen off and the pain radiated from the top of her foot up her leg, but Mulder’s fingers were working their magic and she rolled harder against him. He let out an ‘oof’ as he lost a pillow from under his neck.  
“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, shedding her panties.  
“No, it’s very unprofessional,” he said, manoeuvring his boxers off his long legs with quite some agility considering his condition.  
Her breathing was short and noisy. “I meant it’s probably going to mean more pain tomorrow.”  
He pinched a nipple. “I can live with that.”  
“What is it about this town, Mulder? It’s like we’re horny teenagers again.” She grasped his cock and ran a thumb over the head.  
“I don’t care. I just know that right now, I feel like I’m in heaven, not West Virginia. How are..nngh god… we going…ah yes…do this…ugh so good, Scully?”  
“Me on top?”  
“Your foot?”  
“You on top?”  
“My shoulder.”  
“Spoons?”  
She turned around so that her good leg was reasonably comfortable and Mulder’s good shoulder was free. She pushed her ass against his groin. He moaned into her neck and he rubbed his length along her. She shuddered expectantly. He nudged at her and she groaned. He inched his way in, maddeningly slow, squeezing a nipple as he did.  
“Mulder?”  
“Scully?”  
They froze. Neither of them had spoken. The hammering at the door. The familiar yet irritating voice of Officer Pinkerton.


	7. Fuck everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did Mulder injure his arm? How did Scully break her foot?

“Agent Mulder. Agent Scully. We need you out here.”  
“Fuck off, Pinkerton!” Mulder growled.  
“Mulder! He’ll hear you.” Scully tried to move forward but a jolt of pain caught her.  
“Agents. There’s been another homicide.”  
“What’s the collective noun for murder, Scully? And how many murders make a collective?” Mulder was trying to pin her to him but she could feel the strength waning in his injured arm as he snaked it around her waist.  
“Agents. I need you out here right now.”  
“He’ll break down the door if we don’t get up now, Mulder. And we’re already contravening FBI policy by sharing a room.”  
“Fuck policy. Fuck Pinkerton. I just wanna fuck you, Scully.”  
She sighed back into him, his lips nuzzling at her neck but the hammering at the door, and the shadow passing the window every so often forced her hand. She smacked at his hand and tried to wriggle out of his grasp.  
“Mulder, let me up.”  
“No. I’m never letting you go.”  
“Don’t make me hurt you,” she said, lifting his arm higher.  
She felt him wince and she scooted forward just as the door to the unit swung open and Pinkerton stormed through. Panic speared through her and she leapt from the bed too quickly to control her landing. She twisted to the ground in a crumpled heap, clutching her foot as the sheet she’d brought with her shrouded her like a tiny ghost in the corner of the room.  
She heard Mulder cursing as Pinkerton yelled at him to get dressed. She was trying to get out from under the sheet when she heard the very definite sound of Mulder hitting Pinkerton then yelping like a wounded hound.  
When she finally managed to get the sheet off her face, she saw Mulder, gloriously naked, holding a bloodied fist in one hand. Pinkerton was sat on his ass, fingers pressed to his bleeding nose, howling.  
“Fuck! Scully, I can’t move my arm.”  
“Fuck! Agent Mulder, I’m arresting you for assault.”  
“Fuck! Mulder, I’ve broken my ankle and I’m tangled up in a sheet and there’s a woman outside the unit pointing a gun in here.”


	8. Discrepancies, Sir?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how Mulder injured his arm. This is how Scully broke her foot.

As soon as Pinkerton turned to face the open door the woman let rip with a Banshee cry and charged into him. The weapon clanged to floor and Scully scooted across on her backside, with her broken foot in the air, and the sheet bunched over her, to pick it up. Mulder had pinned his injured arm to his side but had to leap out of the way of the woman and Pinkerton who had now ended up brawling on the floor in front of the bed. He let out a cry of pain as he watched them writhe.  
“You bastard, Alan. You fucking, cheating, lying bastard!” The woman smacked Pinkerton with an open fist and his nose spurted fresh blood.  
“Get off me Ellen,” he said, but it sounded more like ‘gedovmeeeee’ and he pushed her so she thudded to her back and stared up at the ceiling wailing.  
“You know her, Pinkerton?” Mulder yelled over the wailing.  
Pinkerton hauled himself up, collected the gun from Scully. “Datsmine.”  
Mulder stepped forward, hitching in a breath. “This woman had your service weapon?”  
From her sheet nest, Scully looked up at the two men, face to face; Mulder’s a mess of pain and confusion, Pinkerton’s just a bloody mess. Ellen continued to sob uncontrollably and outside a parade of onlookers had gathered.  
Skinner looks over his glasses at her first, then at Mulder. He loosens his collar. The light has caught his shiny head once again and Scully feels nauseous.  
“I’ve called you back here because there have been some discrepancies uncovered in the Bradshaw case.”  
“Discrepancies, Sir?” Mulder manages to put on a convincing show sometimes.  
“Yes, Agent Mulder. There appear to be a number of questions raised over elements of your report and the Chief up there wants someone to attend in person to go through it.”  
She watches the light patterns play out on his head as he moves forward. This is it. What happened in Bradshaw will definitely not stay in Bradshaw. She can hear Mulder squirming as he realises the same.  
“Clearly, you two are not in a fit state to travel, and given the allegations from Officer Pinkerton, I doubt he would want you anywhere near him or the town,” Skinner says.  
Well, I know that, she thinks.  
“So, I will be heading up there myself. And I expect you two to make yourselves available by phone 24/7. Do you understand, Agents?”  
Mulder sits on the desk, flexing the wrist on his injured arm. The sling over his shirt looks like a holster and she watches the strap move in rhythm.  
“Should we have told him about the swinger’s clubs?” she asks.  
“I’m pretty sure he’ll work it out, Scully. As soon as the light goes off and that smell comes back he’ll be all over the place and whoever is in the way…”  
“You don’t think Skinner would…”  
“Why not?”  
She hitches in a breath. Just thinking about Skinner like that makes her flush with second hand embarrassment. “Pinkerton cannot seriously divulge what really happened. He’ll lose his job.”  
“He won’t, Scully. He’s just making noises because his wife kicked him out and Ellen won’t have anything to do with him and her husband has too much to lose.”  
“Perhaps we should have told Skinner that Ellen is married to the Chief.”  
Mulder smirks. “Maybe.”  
She smirks back. “You’re terrible, Mulder.”  
“Do you think we’ve brought a little bit of Bradshaw back with us, Scully?”  
She hops over to him, plants a kiss on his fucking beautiful lips and says, “I fucking hope so, Mulder.”


End file.
